


Waiting For You (is a piece of cake)

by lucdarling



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baker Harry, Bakery, Fluff, M/M, Soulmates, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Younger Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 02:57:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6593923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucdarling/pseuds/lucdarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can find only your soulmate after age 18, and Harry is sure he knows who his is - but Louis being younger than him means they can only be friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting For You (is a piece of cake)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Louvie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louvie/gifts).



> Thank you to the mods for running this exchange and being so understanding. Louvedarling, I hope you enjoy this very fluffy story!
> 
> A massive thank you to my cheerleader (thefaceofcho), beta (tiredsongs) and Britpicker (dametokillfor). You guys were all amazing and any mistakes in this work are my own.

“Mum, when do I get to know?”

“When you’re eighteen, Harry. Not before then.”

“But I want to know!”

“Nothing’s going to change that, it’s just the way the world works. Do you want some cake?”

Harry Styles and his mother repeat this exchange yearly on his birthday, but it’s when he turns ten and the neighbors move in three houses down that Harry thinks he’s found his soulmate. Johanna Tomlinson has just had twins and Harry thinks they’re perfect wriggling, squalling joys. He doesn’t even mind the sick-up when his mother takes him over for tea. Well, the mothers have tea, Harry sits in the nursery and stares through the cot bars at the sleeping babies.

He’s told Miss Jay has a son almost his age, but he’s away at footie camp with his best friend Stan back in their old town. Then he’s staying over at Stan’s the rest of the summer, since he’ll have to be “stuck in this sleepy village” the rest of his life, Harry overhears Miss Jay tell his mum with a laugh.

Harry doesn’t think Holmes Chapel is all that small and it’s not sleepy. Not when there’s plenty of fields to explore and singing to practice for morning services at St. Luke’s. Harry thinks he might stop that soon, the nuns enjoy pinching the fat in his cheeks a little too much.

There’s pictures lining the hallway and if Harry stands on his tiptoes, he can just see bright blue eyes and brown hair. They’re mesmerizing and sometimes Harry wishes the boy in the photos was in a Wizarding picture so when Harry waved at him, he would wave back. Something in his gut tells him this boy will be important, Harry can’t explain why. He cries when he learns that the boy is staying in his old town an entire year to finish primary with his friends.

Harry meets Louis when he’s almost thirteen, instead. Louis is eleven.

They don’t become friends, not that Harry is very surprised. He’s got a bit of a reputation at the comprehensive; everyone is nice and he has friends but while most of them are happy to partner with him on projects, they’re not really the sort to come over on the weekends.

Louis, on the other hand, seems to have no problem despite being in the youngest class. It seems like only a few months and Harry is already hearing his yearmates talk about the clown of the incoming year, the footie star who dreams he’ll play for Man United if they call, but really wants to go play for his home club, the Rovers. Louis has everyone wrapped around his tan pinkie finger and Harry is glad. It might feel weird to be so proud and some would say protective, of another person, but Harry’s always been strange.

They both grow up, not interacting much in the school hallways, or even on the bus home though they live close enough that they get off at the same stop. Harry usually rides it home alone, Louis left behind at school for footie practice or drama club that he joins in Year 8.

Harry starts working at the single bakery in the village when he’s not quite 15 years old, to earn himself some money for new films and books. His mum has been getting their bread there for years, as long as Harry can remember, but it’s when he tries to make a cake for Gemma’s birthday and the icing looks like it was slapped on and drips down the sides that he starts to wonder about lessons of some sort. He can’t articulate why he wants to do this, but he begs his mum and promises his grades will stay up.

Barbara, the owner, won’t commit to lessons because running a business takes so much time but she does agree to take Harry on as a sort-of apprentice. She needs more help in the shop anyhow.

It’s a lot of sweeping floors and brewing tea the first few months. Just like at St. Luke’s when he was younger, the nans pinch his cheeks and on a memorable occasion, his bum. Barbara only laughs when he complains and ruffles his curls under the hairnet. It’s the middle of summer when he’s allowed in the back and told to follow this recipe exactly, pouring buckets of flour and large cubes of butter into a ginormous silver mixing bowl that Harry thinks he could probably fit into if he curled up.

Harry still works hard at school but he finds more pleasure in making sure the ingredients are measured just so and watching the bread rise during its first proof. He also gets to know the people who visit, the daily customers who pop in for a tea and croissant before the train and the gaggle of tiny school kids walking home, who save their money for the whole week to buy a pair of chocolate tartlets or individual banoffee pies. It’s more often that he’s put behind the counter to serve customers than in the kitchen, but the first time he successfully does the glazing on a fruit tart, Barbara hugs him and cheers.

Harry has a long discussion with his mum and Robin about whether to sit for his A Levels or to start working at the bakery full-time. They agree together that if he’s really serious about the baking, then Harry can start a true apprenticeship that has him going to class one day a week over in Manchester and working full days with Barbara the rest of the week.

The apprenticeship proper is a return to sweeping, brewing tea and the till, no kitchen work until he’s gotten his health and safety cert and done a number of class hours. He and Barbara just wink at each other when he goes into the back once they’ve closed the shop up to do three turns of the croissant doughs because she really does need the help. 

It turns out the minute Harry turns 18 is a minute built up to nothing. He looks over the table at his mother when the clock strikes. He feels absolutely, completely, totally the same. The blown out candles on his cake before him are still sending grey smoke into the air and the weather is still bitterly cold outside.

“Nothing! There’s no name, or feeling, or not even a clue!” His mother shakes her head and smiles at him.

“That’s why it’s so rare, love. I have a feeling you’ll be an exception, however.”

“Maybe I should travel instead, meet more people just in case. What if it’s not-” Harry muses and then cuts himself off, because even though he hopes it’s Louis Tomlinson, it’s better not to get his hopes up and then dashed. It’s better to think his soulmate might be waiting for him out there, across the ocean or somewhere.

“And leave Barbara to run the bakery all on her own? I think not,” his mother chastises. “You promised her you’d help out and you’re not even halfway through your qualifications yet. If you earn vacation days, then you can go traipsing about all over the Earth.”

“But your soulmate might be closer than you think,” Robin adds. “You never know.” He takes his mum’s hand and they both smile at each like Harry’s not even in the room. Harry gets it, he does, because their chance meeting was literally that thanks to their workplace and schedules, but he doesn’t think it’s too much to ask for some sort of reassurance or sign.

Harry goes to bed that night feeling sullen and let down. There’s a greater than likely chance his soulmate isn’t so close like being his neighbour from three doors down. No one can be that lucky.

It’s when he’s 18 and three days that Louis walks in the shop and Harry’s gut is proven right. Harry isn’t even at the counter, but in the back laying chocolate in the croissant dough for tomorrow morning and his body snaps to attention. Or maybe it melts, like in a warm bath - it’s a very hard feeling to describe, but Harry knows it’s right. He peeks through the round window at the door separating the kitchen from the shop proper and yep, Louis is there, muddy cleats thrown over one shoulder and giving a small smile to whatever Barbara is saying.

Harry can’t concentrate as long as Louis is at the counter, in the bakery, so close by and he’s useless at laying out chocolate sticks. He gets the courage to step out from the kitchen and leans against the counter with the clean mugs, watching Barbara put scones and biscuits in white paper bags and Louis’ eyes are so bright.

Then they turn to Harry and the noise Harry lets out at being seen is not one he wants to repeat and he darts back into the kitchen. He may also trip over the stool leg and onto the floor, but hopefully it was quiet enough that Barbara doesn’t feel the need to check up on him.

No such luck, because less than three minutes later and the woman is poking her head through.

“Harry, do you feel okay?”

“I need to lie down,” Harry announces dramatically and does exactly that on the kitchen’s tiled floor. He doesn’t think about how many potential health code violations this probably is because his heart is still pounding in overdrive even as a bubbly warmth is filling him up. Harry feels like he could float up to the clouds, just by knowing who his soulmate is. The fact that it’s who he was hoping for, maybe dreaming about, the boy who captured his attention all those years ago; it’s like Harry’s on a rocket to the farthest star in the sky, he’s nothing but light.

“I see that,” Barbara says carefully. “Should I call your mother?”

“No!” Harry says. “I just - Louis - the boy who was here -” he starts and stops, unsure of how to explain or get his tongue to work.

“Yes, the Tomlinson boy,” Barbara encourages and Harry remembers she’s been greeting the villagers by name long before he stepped foot onto the bakery premises. “What about him?”

“He’s my soulmate,” Harry confesses. He jolts when Barbara claps her hands and shrieks.

“Harry! That’s fantastic! Why didn’t you introduce yourself, or chase after him?”

“I couldn’t even speak, you saw me! I’m on the floor right now!”

“That could be a normal Thursday for you and your clumsy self,” Barbara grins. “Okay so that’s why you couldn’t say you’re his soulmate, but don’t you worry, he’s in here quite often. You’ll get another chance. I’m sure you’ll be good friends at the least.”

“I’ll think about it,” Harry shuts his eyes and throws an arm over his face.

“You think about while you’re sanitizing the floor and finishing the pastries for tomorrow morning. Then you’re free to go, I won’t get much else out of you today I presume.” Barbara chuckles and turns back to head to the front of the shop.

Harry lies on the floor for what he guesses is ten minutes, then gets up to finish the chocolate croissants.

When he gets home from work, it’s clear his mother has already heard the news. Harry knew Barbara wasn’t ordering more supplies on that phone call, it had been too short and she usually rang the supplier on Sunday evening, not Thursday.

“It’s Louis, I hear.” His mother says. Harry nods with a big smile. “I’m glad you don’t have to travel the jungles and swim the rivers,” and Harry laughs. 

“Me too. Not that traveling wouldn’t be fun, but now we can go together!”

“When he’s 18, Harry.” and like that, his mother’s voice brings him crashing back to Earth.

“What? Why?”

“Come inside, have a cuppa and we’ll chat.” His mum steers him through the front door and to a chair in the kitchen. She bustles around, putting water to boil and scooping loose-leaf into the silver ball.

“It’s like this, Harry. Would you want to know who your soulmate was at, how old is he, 16 now?”

“I think so,” Harry answers. “And yes, I absolutely would have wanted to know! Why wouldn’t you?!”

“Because Louis, or any 16 year old, would have absolutely no way of knowing if it were true! There are rules about this, Harry. You cannot tell him until he’s turned eighteen.”

“That’s almost two years away,” Harry groans. He gets a pat on the arm for that as the kettle whistles.

“I’ll find a copy of the rules, they must be online somewhere.” His mother finishes preparing the tea and pulls down a package of Wagon Wheels from the cupboard. “Harry, if you tell Louis that he’s your soulmate before he’s legally of age, it will be very bad. For both of you, you understand?”

“I understand.” Harry nods and stuffs a whole Wheel in his mouth. “I won’t tell him.”

It’s not as hard as Harry thought it would be. Sure, the first month that he sees Louis in the bakery Harry wants to shout it from the rooftop of the highest building in the entire township and ring all the bells at all the churches because no one but his soulmate could be so small and funny and caring.

Harry quickly learns that Louis stops in for a bag of biscuits occasionally on Thursday afternoons and even more rarely on Monday. He watches the younger boy jog past in a football kit some Saturday and Sunday mornings, but his favourite days are Friday.

It’s Friday afternoons when school’s let out and Louis stops in the bakery for a cuppa. He stays for over an hour, drinks his tea when it’s scalding hot and studies for his A Levels, by the looks of it. Harry doesn’t envy him; at least the once-a-week class for his qualifications is more on journal writing and the history of the bakeshop. It’s a little boring but Harry also finds it interesting, most days.

Harry never asks why he doesn’t study at home. He also doesn’t offer any sugar, after the first disastrous offer.

The scowl Louis had bestowed on him for such a seemingly innocuous question had been enough to have Harry taking a step back. Granted, he had also interrupted the boy.

“Sorry, I just noticed Barbara hadn’t brought you any and I thought-”

Louis waved off his explanation with a gesture. “It’s fine, mate. You’ll catch on soon, sugar doesn’t belong in tea.”

Harry had laughed at that and pulled the sugar bowl closer to his chest. “More for me and my tea, then. Excellent.”

“You’re dead wrong. You’re a heathen,” Louis had granted him a smile to take the sting out of the words. “But I’ll probably be ready for another cup in about five minutes, if it’s not too much trouble?”

“No, not at all. On the house, even.” Harry had babbled as he backed away. “You should study, I’ll just be over here doing things. Work things, that I’ve been assigned.” Louis had laughed again, and Harry watched as his eyes crinkled with the force of it.

Harry had only tripped a little getting back behind the counter but hadn’t spilled the sugar bowl, so he counted it as a success.

Harry had kept careful mental note of the usual time Louis came into the shop, so after a month or so had passed, Harry had a cup of Yorkshire tea waiting at his usual seat by the window.

The first time Harry had left a cup by the window, Louis had, according to Barbara who Harry thought was sometimes prone to exaggeration in her old age, taken a look and turned back out into the street. Harry hadn’t seen this, being in the kitchen on his mandated ten-minute rest break but he heard about it when again, according to Barbara, his face had fallen like a puppy’s upon noticing Louis wasn’t in his usual seat.

The second time went better, Harry setting the cup and saucer down just as Louis walked in.

“Er, I can sit somewhere else,” Louis had been hesitant and Harry’s heart thumped in his chest. His soulmate was so considerate.

“No silly, it’s for you!” Harry had carefully put a hand on Louis’ upper arm and steered him into the waiting seat. “You come here around the same time each week and study really hard and I just thought-” Harry trails off as Louis cups the hot beverage and takes a long swallow.

“Thank you,” Louis says after he’s drunk half of his tea. It leaves his mouth wet and his lips a shiny pink and Harry is certainly not staring at Louis’ mouth, he’s only seventeen.

“Right,” Harry mumbles, slightly strangled. “Barbara’s gone off on an errand so if you need anything, just shout ‘cause I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“I will,” Louis confirms and smiles at Harry. This time, he does trip when he walks behind the counter.

“Oi, alright there?” Louis calls after him. Harry stumbles to his feet and waves.

“Nothing hurt, ‘m fine. Just clumsy.”

“I see,” Louis laughs and turns to pull his books out. Harry gets back to his actual work, but if Barbara isn’t there to call him out on how often he stops and stares at the way the sun hits the brown layered hair and brings out the red tint.

Harry eventually gets stuck in forming the pastry shells for the cheese danishes that they only offer on Saturday mornings, because they are such a pain. Harry can’t deny they don’t look lovely though. He’s considering adding fruit, maybe peach or blueberry, when the bell by the till rings.

“Be with you in a minute,” Harry shouts out and goes to wash his hands.

It’s not a customer, but Louis.

“More tea?” Harry asks, turning towards the hot water tap.

“No, uh, I actually want to buy some things.” Louis says with a laugh. There’s a rasp in it that Harry wants to bottle and keep forever.

“Okay, what can I get for you?”

“Sweet and pretty,” Louis says. Harry bites his tongue so he doesn’t tell Louis he thinks he’s pretty and sweet enough.

“What about the pink ones?” Louis points to the glass case and Harry notices he’s careful to hover over it so his finger doesn’t smudge. Harry greatly appreciates it.

“They’re cherry icing on a chocolate biscuit, for spring. Not terribly sweet since we used sour cherries instead of maraschino.” Harry tells him. Louis’ mouth thins. “You may like the bumblebees?” he offers.

Louis glances down at the creature biscuits, and down the case further when he realizes they’re at children’s eye level. Harry definitely does not feel his heart flutter at the sweep of Louis’ long eyelashes against his tanned skin.

“Yeah, those look good. Two of those, one of the cherry ones for me mum and two of the ones shaped like the terriers?” He sounds hesitant and Harry confirms those are Yorkshire terriers done in brown and black icing.

Harry sneaks an extra bumblebee cookie in the bag, because Louis looks tired from studying. He feels better for helping to take care of his soulmate, even in such a small way.

It becomes their thing soon, Harry having tea ready for Louis on Friday afternoon at his usual table and Harry bagging up anywhere from two to five biscuits just before Louis heads home and Harry closes up the shop. They’re always on the sweet side, which Harry figures is fair since Louis must get his sugar intake from something other tea like every other normal British citizen.

He tells Barbara on a Monday morning that he’s been giving Louis an extra treat on Fridays and she only pats his cheek with a laugh.

“You think you’re the only one, Harry? That boy’s yours, he deserves the best.” He takes this to mean she isn’t mad and starts comping his tea as well. If it really causes trouble, Barbara can take it out of his wages.

“You know, I can pay for my own tea,” Louis confronts Harry suddenly, leaning over the counter with his upper body so he can look at Harry as he cleans out the bottom of the case.

“Yes but you’re a regular.” Harry gives him a big smile. “And you’re studying and probably very stressed, I remember Gemma was an absolute nightmare! So it’s not a problem, and I won’t get in trouble for it if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Louis seems to be caught off guard by this explanation.

“You’ve also been giving me an extra biscuit, don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Louis wags his finger scoldingly and laughs as he does it. Harry laughs with him, covering his mouth with one hand.

Louis tugs it down. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Stop yourself from expressing joy!” He grins and Harry’s heart beats in double-time. “Least, that’s what I tell my sisters. It’s a lot easier to say that and actually do it when you’re not studying your arse off.”

“Sisters?” Harry asks, because this is the first he’s heard of them. It does explain Louis bringing home five cookies, maybe.

“Yep!” Louis says proudly and digs in his pocket for his phone. “You don’t work Wednesdays which is when they usually come in for a cake pop or something with their pocket money, but maybe we’ll all be around on a weekend.”

“You know my schedule.” Harry says, confused. He’s sure it shows in his face.

Louis turns a little pink at Harry’s words. “Well, it’s only you and Barbara working, I think the whole village knows you’re her official apprentice.”

Harry nods and tries to absorb the information that his soulmate does pay attention to him, does know who Harry is, and is maybe flirting with him.

“When’s your birthday?” Harry asks suddenly, and if Louis is thrown off by the change in topic, he doesn’t show it.

“Christmas Eve,” he sighs dramatically. “One month and I’ll be eighteen!”

“Ah,” Harry smiles. “I was quite excited on mine too.”

That gets Louis peering in his face. “You’re over eighteen?!”

“Uh,” Harry’s fingers twist together nervously. “I’ll be twenty-one in February actually.”

Louis’ mouth drops open and Harry can’t tell if he’s seriously shocked or just being dramatic. “I thought you were my age! Maybe younger! Your curls and your face, really-” He cuts himself off and bends down to pick up his school bag. “I’ve got to go, sorry Harry. I’ll see you later.” and he’s rushing out the door without another word.

Harry’s left in the empty bakery, feeling like his heart got stepped on. The fact that his soulmate knows his name is an empty buzz in his veins compared to watching Louis run away from him.

He doesn’t see Louis over the weekend, or the following Monday. He calls in sick on Tuesday and Barbara thankfully understands. She’s never found her soulmate and once told Harry, never wanted to. She likes being on her own, running the bakery and doesn’t see the need for a second person. The bakery is enough as it is. While Harry can’t disagree about the amount of work a bakery needs, especially one expected to supply an entire village, he wants his soulmate. He wants Louis in his life.

He finally sees Louis on the following Friday, a week after the younger boy had run out.

“You didn’t have to,” Louis breaks the silence Harry’s been working in all week. “How did you know I’d be here?”

“You’re usually here,” Harry says in a dull voice.

“I feel like I should explain myself,” Louis says as he takes his seat. “Do you have time to sit?” The shop is empty except for an older couple at the small table opposite the pastry case, and Barbara is in the kitchen.

“Yeah, let me tell Barb and I’ll be right back.” Harry also hangs up his apron and hairnet.

He also makes himself a cup of tea, two sugars before he goes over to Louis’ table.

“Right,” Louis’ fingers twist together in an interlocking pattern that Harry watches until he realizes the younger boy is nervous too.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Harry soothes. He doesn’t reach out to hold Louis’ hand no matter that his heart is screaming at him to do so.

“So I maybe thought you were my age or like, maybe even sixteen?” Louis winces like it’s a rude thought but Harry only grins ruefully.

“I get that a lot, as you can imagine.” Harry says with a small smile.

“Yeah, so I was going to see if you wanted to go out last week, but I also was prepared that you wouldn’t because my birthday’s in less than a month and I’ll be eighteen and hopefully find my soulmate. I just wasn’t expecting-”

“For me to be older,” Harry finishes. “That’s okay.” He reaches over to take Louis’ hand when the boy looks down at the dregs of his tea. “Really, Louis. It’s okay, I’m not mad or upset. Okay, I was upset but that wasn’t much to do with you.”

“And it’s not like we can’t go back to being friends like we were, I’m not going to make it weird for you to be here and study. You’ve still got a few more months until you sit your exams and I bet the bakery’s a bit quieter than a house with so many sisters, huh?”

“You have no idea.” Louis bemoans. “I love them all to bits but trying to concentrate is awful.” Harry squeezes his hand.

“How about you just continue studying here and when you turn eighteen, ask me again?” Harry offers. He watches Louis mull it over in his head.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes out. “Not like I’d find my soulmate just sitting around studying in the first place. Uh,” he backpedals when he clearly remembers Harry is over the age mark and without a soulmate. “I mean, I’m sure yours is out there too!”

Harry laughs, the big honking laugh and doesn’t cover the sound this time. “We’ll see,” he says as he stands and tucks the chair back under the small table. “I’ll get you another cuppa and then you get to your books, yeah?”

The next two weeks are a return to normal for Louis and Harry, then the bakery’s closed for the Christmas holiday.

Harry isn’t exactly expecting Louis to turn up on his doorstep the night of December 24th, or even on Christmas itself, so he isn’t too let down when it doesn’t happen.

He opens up the bakery by himself the day after Boxing Day, pulling pastries he and Barbara made before the holiday from the freezer and letting them thaw to room temperature before he sets them in the glass case. He’s halfway done with the opening cleaning checklist when there’s a loud rap at the door.

Harry is surprised that it’s Louis standing there, with four younger girls surrounding him.

“Can we come in?” Louis asks through the glass and Harry unlocks the door.

“We’re not really open, I’m sorry,” Harry says even as he ushers them out of the cold. It’s just gone 7AM and the bakery won’t open for another half-hour with the holiday schedule.

“That’s fine,” Louis says. “I wanted you to meet Lottie, Fiz, Phoebe and Daisy.” He bops them gently on the head as he says their name.

“You could have come over to the house,” Harry points out, though he bends down to shake the twins’ hands. They’re adorable in green and pink. Lottie and Fiz have already taken a seat at Louis’ usual table.

“Maybe I should just put a sign on that table so it’s reserved for Tomlinsons only.” Harry jokes and it makes Louis laugh. “I was about to start the water, we can have tea in a few minutes if you’d like.”

The younger girls vigorously nod their head and Louis rolls his eyes. “I’ll help you,” he says to Harry and shoos the twins off his legs and over to the sisters.

Harry leads him behind the counter and drags a stool from the kitchen for Louis to sit on.

“It’s really more milk than tea, for the younger two.” Louis says quietly. Harry nods as he pours water into the teapot. “I can make it for them.”

Harry hands him two mugs from the stack behind him and their fingers touch.

It’s electric, like lightning in Harry’s veins. So much more powerful than when Harry had seen Louis almost two years ago, he doesn’t even notice when the mugs fall on the ground between them and shatter. Their eyes meet and Harry’s world is birdsong and summer grass and music.

“Hey, lovebirds!” A young girl’s voice brings them both back to their surroundings and the fact that they’re holding hands. “You gonna bring us tea or what?”

Louis sighs and squeezes Harry’s hand. “I’m glad it’s you,” he says.

“I’m very glad it’s you.” Harry replies.

“I had a feeling,” Louis says as he and Harry work together to make six teas and get a plate of fresh croissants. He thinks Barbara would probably put them on a tray with a doily if she were here to witness, she’d be so happy.

“So that’s why you came here at seven in the morning?” Harry laughs as he sets the plate down on the table and Louis passes out the tea. “You didn’t need to wake your sisters up for that, Lou.”

“I’ll explain later, but I don’t want to ruin right now.” Louis says as he takes the chair next to Harry’s. He drags it so close they’re practically on one large chair.

“I’ll wait,” Harry says and turns back to the girls’ conversation. He doesn’t open the bakery that day, they eat a number of the items Harry was supposed to sell, and he’s too happy to mind.


End file.
